


completion

by AdiAbieu



Series: anthology [5]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 21:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdiAbieu/pseuds/AdiAbieu
Summary: Beside her is a woman; a sister, a daughter, a woman who loves and is loved. Who gets frustrated, who cries, who rages at the world. Who laughs at terrible sitcoms, enjoys slow-munching pizza when she’s hungover, and never wears underwear matching her bra unless she’s planning to do a strip tease.Beside her, tomorrow night, will be her wife.





	completion

**Author's Note:**

> Hi :) Sorry this jumps a little bit. Hope you enjoy

_ Clack. _

Her eyes fly open. She wasn’t really sleeping, just in that drifting state between being awake and away.

In her chest, her heart races. But even with the surge of adrenaline, she is sure she imagined-

_ Clack. _

She jolts up, the sheets tumbling off her shoulders. The shadowy shapes of the strange room add to her disorientation. She gets up from the bed, sneaking around the bedside table, the plush armchair. She whispers over the carpeted floor.

_ Clack. _

This one smaller, like a stone scooting up from the highway against her windscreen. Like someone flinging rocks against her window.

She prowls forward with caution, drawing the curtain away and peering through the thin gap into the night.

A figure stands, an arm rearing back for another launch until they notice the ripple of the curtain. Then, a stone drops down onto the dark lawn.

She moves back a step to suppress the ripple of giddiness. Then she flings the curtains open fully, unlatches the window and swings it wide.

“Really?”

She can’t see much in the meagre moonlight, but Maggie knows Alex is grinning below her.

“Yup.”

Maggie stretches her arms out, drumming on the wooden sill. She leans further into the night. “Are you seriously doing this?”

“Yeah. Came all the way through the big bad forest to get here, too,”

Alex gestures at the black outline of the woods behind her.

Located on the other side of the forest from the Danvers family home, the White Sands Inn in Midvale is quaint and cosy- definitely fancier than Maggie expected. All pastels and perfumed, and most importantly, paid for by Eliza, it is where she will spend her final night before she becomes someone’s wife.

Although, watching the idiot bouncing on her toes on the dark lawn below, she isn’t sure that concept is as elegant and reverent as she had imagined it to be. 

Amused, Maggie rests her elbows on the sill. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before her wedding day.”

“We’re both brides, I think we’ll cancel it out.” Alex slips her hands into her back pockets, looking around as if she has all the time in the world. ”You gonna let me up or not?”

“You’re gonna shimmy up the ivy like Romeo?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She nods at the building. "There’s a drainpipe.”

Even as Alex rustles through the bushes and grips the drainpipe, Maggie is in a near state of shock at what she is witnessing. She swings the window as far as it will go as Alex inches across the twisting ivy and brick and grapples with the wooden frame.

Alex hoists herself up as if she were infiltrating an enemy hideout rather than her finacee's hotel room, and tips up her chin. "Impressed?"

"Oh, absolutely, Romeo," Maggie teases, leaning in to kiss her.

Alex hums against her lips. They share a sweet moment, and then Maggie moves to let her climb in.

"Wait!"

Alex freezes, one leg in, one leg out. "What?"

"Your shoes are muddy."

Alex frowns, looking down. "And the carpet is cream..."

Maggie darts to the bathroom and grabs the towel she had in the laundry basket. She lays it out and kneels down, unlacing Alex's boot.

“Have you come to corrupt me before my wedding night?” she asks, glancing up with a smirk.

“Nope.” Alex manoeuvres her other leg in, and Maggie removes that boot too. “I came to behave.”

“I’m sure you have.” Maggie stands, wrapping her arms around Alex's waist. She can see the waves of stray hair dancing in the light breeze, can smell the pine and ocean lingering aboutAlex's frame. She holds her closer. “You could’ve just come in through reception, you know .”

“Deidre is coming to the wedding tomorrow. You want her to tell my mother about this?”

Maggie assumes she is referring to the stern receptionist. With her glasses hung around her neck and her cropped perm, she has the kind of headmistress aura that Maggie does not want to get on the wrong side of.

“If you didn’t come for sex, why did you come?” Maggie closes the window again and moves back to the bed, taking a seat on the edge.

Alex shrugs one shoulder, playing with the diamond of her engagement ring. It glimmers even with the lack of light. “I missed you.”

“It was one evening." Maggie smiles even as she says it. “And tomorrow, you’ll have me for the rest of your life.”

At this, Alex fixes her with a look she can't quite see, and yet knows by heart. Her finacée shuffles forward, cupping her cheeks and leaning down to kiss her. Tempting fate, Maggie curls her fingers into Alex's belt loops and tugs her down.

They smile devilishly into their kisses; it derails and grows heated. Alex straddles her on the bed, pushing down into her kisses, making Maggie groan with want. Part of her wants to indulge in this fantasy of being taken by a stranger in the night-

Yet suddenly Alex shakes her head and rolls away. 

Maggie pushes her hair from her face, flustered. “You’re serious.”

“I am," Alex says, chest heaving, "No sex.”

“No sex,” Maggie marvels, propping her head up.

Alex smooths hair away from her temple, clears any raspiness from her throat. “How was dinner?”

She had been treated to a great dinner surrounded by old friends, all of whom had travelled down for the wedding. There were old Gotham colleagues, new National City ones, the aliens, the exes, the people she had chosen to be her family. And yet it was a true law enforcement celebration, the jurisdiction lines melting away with humorous debate.

And all of them would witness her marriage the next day.

Her aunt and her younger cousins had been there. She couldn't believe how much they'd shot up in height. They bickered and bitched to her about the Rodas' until their mother told them to have some tact, but Maggie didn't mind.

Later, her aunt had kissed her forehead and, speech slurred after a few glasses of wine, made her cry with a beautiful, private toast. 

Maggie entertains Alex for a while with anecdotes about the dinner. How Rusty, her old sergeant from Gotham, cajoled her cousins with stories of supervillains and the Bat family. How the stories of Officer Sawyer the rookie got circulated among her National City colleagues, and they realised she wasn't always on form.

Eventually, inevitably perhaps, the conversation winds its way back to the bachelorette party.

"Charlie was showing me some of the pictures from that night. They look good, considering." Alex looks over in question, so Maggie adds, "Well, considering not everyone was on their best behaviour."

Alex scoffs. “Oh, please. You were barely there ten minutes before you had your hand up my dress.”

“Like you weren’t pawing at me to follow you to the cloak room for that exact reason.”

A pause, and then a sheepish reply: “You know how your uniform gets me. I wasn’t entirely to blame here...”

~

In an unprecedented inter-agency agreement, both Alex and Maggie had lost their negotiating footing almost immediately. Unnumbered, outgunned, and outmanoeuvred, they simply had to throw their hands up in surrender and let their foe decide their fate- 

Let their colleagues plan their entire bachelorette party.

The cops of Maggie's precinct and agents of Alex's regular strike force decided on a bar crawl. The group had fallen in with each other over time spent at various scenes. Together, they planned a meticulous snake of a journey that weaved around the National City bar and club scene.

What Alex and Maggie hadn't known was that they had conspired to have the crawl end together in common cop haunt,  _ Filthy Flannagan's _ .

The agents were there first, which meant that Alex had no idea the cops were out in uniform—  albeit, false uniforms, lest one of them embarrass themselves and bring the force into disrepute— but uniforms nonetheless.

As soon as Maggie wandered in donning her navy costume, Alex was a goner. She bit her lip, raising her glass from where she leaned heavily against the bar. Maggie managed a confident gait through the crowd, nodding and greeting those she passed.

By the time she set an elbow on the bar, the bartender had spotted the arrival of the second bride-to-be and poured them both shots of tequila.

"On the house, ladies," he said, sliding them over. "Congrats, Sawyer."

"Thanks, Jeff," Maggie replied.

They raised their shot glasses, they clinked, and they drank. Shaking off the burn, Alex slurred, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Maggie's eyes were cloudy at times, clear at others, and she grinned. "I'm here all right."

Swaying, tipsy, everyone engaged in banter and drama around them. Meshing across technical and combat, the agents and perimeter cops had a good rapport. It made for a rowdy, but jolly atmosphere in  _ Filthy Flannagan’s _ .

Maggie brushed a lock of Alex's hair behind her ear, leaning in to whisper, "That dress is driving me crazy."

Shivers raced up Alex's neck at Maggie's breath on the shell of her ear. She must have known that dress had that effect, it was why she chose to wear it.

While everyone was drunk to notice, Alex grabbed Maggie's wrist and they slipped into a cloak room at the back of the bar and locked the door.

Batting jackets and coats out of the way, Maggie walks her backwards and props her on a table. The partition of the cloakroom was worn. Just through the wooden slats behind Alex was a roving, gyrating mass of people on the dancefloor.

Within no time, her hands were up Alex's dress, tugging underwear down milky thighs.

“Look at me,” she had said, hushed, slurred.

Alex was glazed with lust and alcohol, but she'd focused enough for Maggie to see the flash of pleasure as she pushed her fingers into her. And after their tryst had run its course, she’d pitched forward and snuffled laughter into Maggie's neck, like a teenager unable to comprehend the act that had just been committed.

When they left the cloakroom, there was wolf-whistling and jeering, and when they'd shared a kiss in front of friends and colleagues they'd heard banging of the tables.

But that night, Maggie got to dance forehead to forehead with the woman she loved surrounded by people celebrating their engagement, and she came to think of it as a beautiful prelude to their wedding.

~

With a laugh, Alex propels up and off the bed.

"I'm glad everyone was too drunk or distracted to remember that," she says, padding around to inspect Maggie's hotel dresser.

"Well," Maggie says with a wince, "Monica was a designated driver that night."

Alex's attention whips around. "Sober?"

"Stone cold." Maggie sighs, thinking of the shy, stuttering receptionist from Narcotics. "She hasn't looked me in the eye since."

With thinly veiled alarm, Alex turns back to the dresser. She lifts a blush-pink bow from the the thicket of personal items, and faces the bed with a suspicious expression. The bow is a signature of the local bakery in town which sells a style of tiramisu Maggie once said she would die for.

"I know this bow..."

Maggie lazily moves her fingertips over her stomach. "Yeah?"

“You had tiramisu tonight.”

“Yup.”

“Maggie," Alex whines, waving the bow in the air, "We ordered it especially for tomorrow.”

“Yup.” Maggie grins at the exasperation. “And I’m gonna eat it then, too.”

Restless, Alex moves on from the bow and rummage through the complimentary basket that the hotel had left.

“I once told Kara you could eat it for every meal,” she says, uncapping a bottle of body wash and sniffing it.

“I couldn’t eat it for every meal.”

Alex reaches in and pinches something, lifting it into the air. A pink and red sleep mask swings with intent.

“Speaking of tiramisu…”

~

It was simple, really. A t-shirt and panties. But something about it drove Maggie wild.

It was a sight she saw nearly every day, how the t-shirt caught just around Alex's hip bones, or exposed a slither of her belly. That tease of skin made Maggie hungry for more flesh, to have her naked, to have her writhing.

Alex knelt on the bed in a red t-shirt and underwear, her pants neatly folded on the chair by the bed. She was practically dancing with giddiness, blindfold in place. 

Maggie fixed the positions of the bowls around her, and then got on the bed facing her. "Ready?

This too was a simple idea. Alex’s idea, in fact.

It was rare for them both to manage the same weekday off, but they had done it and Alex proposed something experimental, something fun. She suggested Maggie blindfold her and feed her various foods, and for every one Alex guessed correctly from the taste, Maggie would  _ reward _ her.

Maggie recognised the curl of innuendo in Alex's voice. She wasn't going to turn down that offer.

Alex nodded, fidgeting her hands in the hem of the shirt. "Ready."

She began with a tub of blueberries, noting the sour twist in Alex's face after the first chew.

"Ew," she complained, "Blueberries."

Maggie dusted a kiss on her cheek, sniggering against the smooth skin. "Yup."

She brushed a strawberry against Alex's lips and enjoyed the hum of pleasure she released when she ate it.

"That's better," Alex mumbled.

"What is it?" Maggie asked, feeding her another.

Alex managed to push  _ strawberry _ through her mouthful, but allowed tracks of juice to run down her chin and neck in the process. Maggie feigned disapproval and then leaned in to clean her with her tongue, following the rivulets back up Alex's neck and chin, and then kissed her deeply.

Next, Maggie peeled an orange, and the burst of the scent in the air alone had Alex grinning before she'd even tasted it.

"Orange," she purred. Maggie slipped the slice between her lips, and then bent to nuzzle at her jaw. She pressed kisses along Alex's pulse, enjoyed the workings of Alex's jaw as she chewed the orange slice.

Maggie alighted on a second bowl, choosing the avenue of a new sensation. She gently spooned out some ice cream, and then carefully brought it to Alex's lips, which parted in reaction to the cool stimulus.

"Oh," Alex gasped, and then took the spoon.

The gears worked, the soft cream melting with the heat of her mouth. Maggie watched, fixated at every twitch of every muscle as Alex tasted, swallowed, and then took a breath.

"Vegan ice cream," she breathed, grinning smugly, recalling the desires longed for and satisfied that the term conjured.

In return for the correct answer, Maggie kissed over her neck and ears, taking her time to enjoy the spread of the flush over Alex's skin. She tugged the hem of Alex's t-shirt up around her waist, resting her hands on the taut flesh, feeling the hum of Alex's groan as they kissed.

She travelled her hands up, thumbing over Alex's nipples. She could taste the fruit and the ice cream on Alex's tongue, feel the brush of the blindfold against her cheek. Her girlfriend kept her own hands fisted against her thighs, buying into the unspoken rule that this was Maggie's to give, not Alex's to take.

Maggie finally sat back, indulged with the kisses and teasing. She took a moment to ground herself, and then lifted the can of whipped cream. As soon as she shook it and Alex registered the familiar whoosh of the cream being released, that cheeky grin was back in full force.

Managing to get a small amount smeared on her fingertip, Maggie offered it to Alex, who purred.

"Whipped cream," she drawled, half-laughing because Maggie was already pulling her t-shirt up and off of her torso.

The red fabric t-shirt hung limp for a second, and Maggie admired the colour of it compared with the flush spreading over Alex's chest. She discarded it as she traced the conquering edges of the blush, how it travelled further over Alex’s pale skin. She teased at her breasts, used the whipped cream on her nipples, enjoying the way the smatter of giggles that broke into moans rattled between them.

By the time tiramisu was the next correct guess, Alex's breathing was coming much faster, her hands clenched into fists by her hips. Maggie lapped at her heaving sternum, reaching out to fasten Alex's wrists in her grip; a final warning to be patient.

She pulled back, resting on her knees in front of her girlfriend. She leaned in, kissing her, the amalgamation of all the tastes bursting against her tongue. Then she rested back on her heels again, letting the moment stir. These acts she repeated as if for a ceremony or sacrament, readying them both for what was to come.

She watched Alex's face very carefully as without warning, she placed a palm against Alex's waistband and slipped right inside. Alex gasped, lips parting, as Maggie swirled her fingertips through wet heat.

The sacrament would be freely given and eagerly received.

She drew back, and then cupped Alex's jaw with her free hand in anticipation.  “And my favourite taste…”

In one fluid motion, without any further verbal prompting, Alex took Maggie's fingers into her mouth and tasted herself.

Maggie was astounded at the way she took her fingers right down to the knuckles, curling her tongue along her fingertips. Bar the spoon, she had fed Alex with her fingers, and with each lash of her tongue Maggie felt them become like culinary instruments themselves; steely, strong, able to slide gracefully in and be received by the heat of one’s mouth.

She didn't waste any more of her time. She dipped back into Alex's underwear, circling twice, three times, before sinking two fingers inside her. She took it easy, enjoying the warm clench of muscles, enjoying the subtle shaking of Alex's body.

As she fucked her, she witnessed the raw power of Alex. How the delicate ribcage expanded and her stomach contracted. The way her pretty chin dipped forward, as if she could watch Maggie’s hand through her blindfold. Her nails scraping up her own thighs, hips flexing forward, greedily taking Maggie's fingers.

And when her climax hit, she let out a sound so raw that it reverberated throughout the bedroom and, Maggie imagined, far beyond.

~

Maggie sees the distance growing in Alex's eyes, how she thumbs the blindfold like a talisman. 

“You’re remembering the time-”

“Yup.”

"Nice."

Alex sniggers at that, the naughtiness of it. The eroticism wrought upon herself, coaxing Maggie into doing exactly what she wanted, how she wanted it. 

In the early days of their relationship, Maggie knew everything was so new to Alex. She wondered if Alex thought about doing things with and to her the way Maggie spent afternoons thinking about it, especially after Alex found the toy drawer.

It wasn't long before Alex started to initiate those fantasies herself.

Shuffling along the dark floor, Alex moves to the window. She peers out over the forest that she came through, playing with the tassels of the curtains.

“Remember when we visited Paris?” she asks, stare still focused on the murky horizon outside.

Maggie inches up on the bed, reclining more comfortably. “My favourite holiday.”

Alex looks at her, then. “Really?”

“Making love with you in Paris?" Maggie says, recalling picture-perfect hazy spring days. "Breakfast out on the balcony, seeing the Louvre...”

“Tying me to the four poster in our hotel room…”

Maggie closes her eyes. A body bowing up, straining limbs, cries first for mercy and then of release. 

“We got a good deal on the suite.”

Alex snorts, dropping the curtain. “Nice sidestep.” She rubs at her nose, bashful now. “You really brought out the, uh, the bondage side in me.”

~

Maggie liked being restrained.

It wasn't about control for her, it was about the physicality of it. Once, she had a girlfriend who told her bondage was an intense thing that went hand in hand with more extreme pleasures; pain, domination, violence.

But she wasn't sure she believed that. She and Alex could have a conversation about the weather even as she was bound to a chair or a bed. It was an extension of them; there was a sexual element of course, but it never strayed into a foreign headspace.

It was only when Alex stood back to survey her work - when that grin of satisfaction spread across her face with how pleased she was at having Maggie at her mercy - that the stab of arousal and expectation would come.

Ever since that very first revelation that Maggie might want to be the one handcuffed, Alex took a great delight in experimentation. 

Over the course of their relationship, Alex grew fascinated with the artistry of bondage. She learned and worked like a craftsman; she exposed, contorted and fixed Maggie exactly as she saw fit. And it made sense. Alex hadn't been with women before her and now she appreciated it to the fullest, baring every inch of flesh she could and creating something she could both study and pleasure.

Yet, regardless of the scientist's hunger for detail, Alex always worked with the awareness she could hurt Maggie. Her bondage was gentle; it was smoothing hands down her biceps and elbows, kissing at her shoulders before carefully winding rope around her wrists.

For Alex, it _ was _ a control thing. The pleasure she got from being restrained was not having to make any more decisions; not about her life, her work, or her pleasure. It was about getting Maggie to get her off.

Each time she needed this, Maggie gave her choices; rope, silk ties, padded cuffs for wrists and ankles. She had watched Alex's fixation with the silk tie snaking around her knuckles again, just as it had the first time they'd discussed toys together, and knew that Alex wasn't imagining anymore. She was remembering; bodies arching, moans, hands in her hair.

She'd seen the dilation of Alex's eyes when she'd said. "This is the last choice you're gonna make tonight."

And once Alex grew comfortable and secure in their relationship, she wanted Maggie to do things to her. She later asked if this was selfish, because sometimes it was just her getting off. Maggie couldn't believe it, couldn't believe she was so open about it.

It was the clearest indication of those who give control are still in control; that in the end, it was Alex getting what she wanted.

And Paris, well, Paris was a dream.

They had gotten engaged but decided it would be a long engagement following a brief separation over kids. They had given each other space, time, and realised how intense it had all been. So they decided to wait. No rush. If life's winds changed direction, if death came to their door, it would come knowing there was intention to marry, and that was good enough for them.

A while after their reconciliation, they had gone to Paris for their second Valentine's day together. They figured it was more than a treat; if they were going to become a couple who enjoyed the cheesiness of the holiday they may as well go all out.

Maggie thought it was more of a long, dreamy fantasy than a real vacation. They toured the must-see locations, lost themselves in side streets, and found themselves in cafes. Two American women in love, caught up in a strange city. She hand-fed Alex delicacies, peddled along with her on hired bikes, and posed for more pictures than she ever remembered having from any other trip.

And two nights before they left the city, Alex let Maggie tie her to their mahogany four poster, the red silk whispering around ankles and wrists.

And on that night, Maggie realised why Valentine had risked his life to marry lovers. To bear witness to Alex's pleasure, to see the effects she could have on this body, bound for her - all in the knowledge this woman would one day be her wife, her soulmate -

She would die for this, too.

~

With a dramatic dip, Alex throws her body down alongside Maggie’s on the bed. She sighs out in contentment, the tent of her rib cage deflating down. Maggie wants to dance her tongue along the ridges she has kissed, clutched, clawed at, bandaged and traced in all the time they’ve been together.  

Beside her is a soldier; sharp wits and sinewy muscle. Unphased by grime, by blood, by trauma. Ready to lunge and leap and dive and, if needed, die. 

Beside her is a lover; one who has grown in confidence, in ability, even in hunger in all the time they’ve come to learn each other’s bodies. A lover who makes Maggie believe in the ancient rituals of two bodies becoming one. 

Beside her is a woman; a sister, a daughter, a woman who loves and is loved. Who gets frustrated, who cries, who rages at the world. Who laughs at terrible sitcoms, enjoys slow-munching pizza when she’s hungover, and never wears underwear matching her bra unless she’s planning to do a strip tease. 

Beside her, tomorrow night, will be her wife. 

Maggie reaches over to run her knuckles along the shell of Alex’s ear, and then behind at the soft hair. 

Alex shivers, but doesn’t push her away. “Tickles.”

“I’m a little sad you let it grow back out.”

“It isn’t too much longer.”

“But remember when you first got the undercut...”

~

Once nervous in her new lifestyle, Alex flourished. Sometimes she would knock Maggie over with simple declarations.

In one instance, she pointed at a woman in a movie they were watching and said, “I used to be disgusted at haircuts like those.”

Maggie looked at the buzzed undercut of the character, the way she held herself. Even growing up in a relatively liberal household, Alex had pockets of internalised homophobia that were only becoming apparent day by day as she grew into her own sexuality.

"Disgusted?"

Alex's face darkened with old shame. She played with a loose thread on the couch. "Yeah, but now I realise they were authentic.”

"Oh?"

Fingertips pulled at the thread until it came away. She laid it on the arm of the couch as if to rest it there. "They didn’t have to appeal to men, or be beautiful like the models or actresses on tv, they were free."

Maggie didn't have to search hard to find the subtext in her statement.

“You could be free too, you know.”

Alex's mouth and eyes drew pinched, as if they were about to share some confidence. “Would I suit it?” she whispered.

Maggie reached over and traced the sharp line of her jaw, and then slid her hand deeply into her tresses. The colour of her hair was already stark against pale skin. "Yeah, I think you would."

When it happened, there was no warning given. There was just coming home one day to an empty apartment, and hearing  _ “Don’t freak out!” _ from the bathroom.

Maggie stared, frozen in place, as Alex self consciously shuffled out. Her hair had been transformed, an undercut in place. The top of her hair was neatly quiffed back. She was rubbing at the back of her skull, bouncing the tub of gel in her other hand.

"What do you think?" she said, and then chewed at her lip.

All Maggie could manage was a simple request-

“Take me to bed.”

As Alex's confidence grew, and as she got used to her new cut, she also got used to the cool authority that settled over her. She could walk with her head higher, unashamed of being visibly authentic; unashamed of who she was.

It inevitably carried over to the bedroom. One night, Maggie had come to see Alex sitting on a chair wearing a white tank top and a pair of men's boxers. She had never seen Alex’s eyes so flat, so expectant. She had set down her badge and gun and knew that tonight there would be no room for anything except submission.

Alex scratched lazily at the white scar on her shoulder, the one left when she had cut out her tracker from her own flesh, and all those thoughts of someone who could enact violence and even handle it on themselves had swirled.

Maggie’s knees went weak, the way an animal’s heart leaps at the smell of blood or the promise of danger.

“Well, are you waiting on an invitation?” Alex drawled, trailing her fingertips over her own bicep. The muscle flexed the same way it did with the weights in the gym, with carrying boxes into their shared apartment, with pulling at restraints on the bed.

Maggie began to unbutton her white shirt, one pearly button at a time. Usually Alex’s eyes lit up at the tease, but now she raised her chin in impatience, as if this ploy wasn’t enough to keep her entertained.

When she was down to her underwear and socks, she prowled over and kissed Alex. Their kisses were filthy, pure tongue and fire. She was spun and yanked down onto Alex's lap, and then a smug  _ be good _ was murmured into her hair.

It riled Maggie up, being sprawled on her finacee's lap, these rules of deep intimacies being discarded and new ones made with the languid nips to her neck, with the almost unengaged way that Alex touched her.

Maggie tried to shift minutely, but hands clamped around her hips.

"Oh, you aren't going anywhere."

Electrified, Maggie arched into the hands sliding their way up her ribs to her breasts. "That right?"

She succumbed to the almost brutish way she was handled; without the care and affection of a lover. Before, Alex's domineering touch was simply sharper. This was rougher, a confident display of the belief that she had a right to touch this body exactly as she pleased.

There was something about about this guise that hustled away all her resolve. Soon, Alex had a hand in her underwear and a hand around her jaw, tilting her to the side and nipping at her throat. She was utterly at the mercy of the spell Alex had put her under; so much so, that all it took was a simple jibe at how she should strap on a toy to have her falling apart. 

They never used degrading language with each other. Derogatory words were passed enough in their work places for them to have any preference or taste for them in the bedroom. Yet all Alex had to do was taunt her once about riding her  _ cock _ and Maggie broke. 

She could register her own panting breaths, Alex's soft nuzzles against her ear. She had collapsed back against her fiancée, who held her firm and steady.

And then-

"Well, for a woman who never slept with a man-"

"Shut up," Maggie gruffed, kissing her to do just that.

But Alex wasn't done with her. She got up and switched their positions, propping Maggie in the chair. She stripped off her underwear and spread her sinfully wide, exposed to the sunlight streaming through the window.

As Alex's undercut prickled at her inner thighs, Maggie revelled in the fact that all of the caution, concentration and carefully built up skill was thrown to the wind. She went down on Maggie messily, as if she hadn't a care in the world, purposefully missing all of her spots and finding many more.

And as Maggie slumped back breathlessly for a second time, dazed in her post-orgasmic state, she had to admit she didn't just like the haircut. 

She loved it.

~

One last circuit of Alex’s scalp, and Maggie pulls back. “What are you thinking about?”

Alex shifts an arm under her neck. “You want the good version or the bad version?”

“Good.”

She breaks out into a blissful smile.  “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow”

Flutterings run rampant through Maggie at the thought of the white dress that J’onn will bring tomorrow, at the anticipation before seeing Alex walk down the aisle, at reading her vows in front of their friends and family… 

“I can’t wait til your great aunt realises you’re marrying a woman.”

Alex manages a choked noise, somewhere between a splutter and cough. Jeremiah’s aunt was still alive, and since Alex’s aunt was her primary carer, she had extended the wedding invitation to both of them. The elderly woman barely remembered Alex as anything other than a scrawny pre-teen no matter how how many years passed.

Both of them had sniggered at the idea of the shock she was going to receive on their wedding day. 

“We’re both wearing dresses for the ceremony, and fitted suits for the reception, but you know what?” Alex says, frowning. Maggie reaches over the trace the crease it makes, and the skin relaxes at her touch.  

“What?” she murmurs. 

“We should have mixed and matched and then we could have fooled her better.”

“That would have made more sense…” Maggie says, and then prompts, “And the bad version?”

Alex reaches up to catch her fingertips, drawing them down and kissing them, before flattening them against her sternum. “I’m really trying hard to stick to my promise of not sleeping with you.” Her eyes travel down the length of Maggie's body beside her, hands pushing Maggie's palm against her rib cage. “But god, Maggie.”

The strangled plea in her voice, the familiar sound of need. Under her palm, Alex’s body trembles with tension, as if she’s holding herself back from lunging away. 

“Well, we don’t have to have sex.” Maggie slowly closes her hand into a fist, twisting the fabric of Alex’s shirt and enjoying the way Alex’s muscle twitches underneath. “At least, we don’t have to touch each other to get off.”

“Mutual masturbation,” Alex acknowledges, “This really is like sneaking out.”

They’d done it once before, hidden away on a cot. Lying in a makeshift clinic after another battle for the survival of their city, they didn't want to have sex out of respect for those injured and recuperating on either side of the green military dividers.

Yet after almost losing each other in the way they had witnessed so many others lost, they found they needed it.

So they'd taken care of themselves. It had been too risky to strip anything off, and a few loosened zippers and buttons had to suffice. They lay in the semi-darkness, side by side, gasping into stolen kisses and trying to make the most of the scant privacy.

This, with the moonlight in a hotel room the night before their wedding, seems even more intimate than that.

Nibbling her lower lip, Alex unbuttons and unzips the fly of her jeans. She rests her palm on her belly, raising an eyebrow. Maggie stifles laughter, and then follows suite. Her drawstring pyjamas stretch as she pushes her hand down. With all of the reminiscing about previous bedroom escapades, she isn't surprised to find herself wet.

She sighs, twitching her hips up into her own fingertips, waiting. She looks over at her fiancée, seeing how dark her pupils are and she wants it. Relishes the way Alex's eyes dip down between her thighs to see what she's doing.

She falls into a tried and tested rhythm, molten heat sparking around her scalp, her thighs, her stomach. She hears the laboured breathing of Alex beside her, catches the flicker of her tongue wetting her parted lips. 

Wordlessly, they bring themselves to the heights of pleasure. Through lidded eyelids, Maggie sees the working of Alex’s forearm, the way her neck cranes back, her hips pushing up in the desperation chase to the edge. 

Maggie feels the tremors rattling up and down her body, the tightening to the point of discomfort, and then Alex comes beside her and the breathless noise of pure relief she gasps out is what tumbles her into her own release. 

Afterwards, their haggard panting is the sweetest sound. Alex staggers up, hand still in her underwear, and opens up the window, letting the room breathe. Then she stumbles back and flops into her original position, legs splayed. 

The night air is pleasant against her flushed skin. Maggie slips her hand out of her drawstring pyjamas, huffing out a disbelieving, dazed laugh at what they’ve just done. 

After a while, she realises Alex’s brow is furrowed in thought, the moonlight painted blue along each delicate ridge of her forehead.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks, “Cause it should be blank.”

Alex’s grin is lazy, her fingers rubbing at her navel. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” Maggie murmurs, stealing a single kiss against a bicep before snuggling down into her.

“You heard me that time before the tank, didn’t you?”

At first, Maggie has no idea what she is referring to. She scrabbles through layers of memory, trying to read the mood of the room, trying to match it with patchy scenes.

Then it comes to her, that stifled whisper, the gasp just before completion.

_ I love you. _

Two nights before Alex's abduction, they had been making love. It was languid, savoured. All muscle sliding against each other. And just before her orgasm caught her in its grasp, Alex had buried her face and gasped out those three words that they hadn't exhcanged yet.

In the aftermath, Maggie didn't mention it. Alex didn't acknowledge it, but Maggie knew she was shell-shocked, that the words had rushed out, and she had looked as if she wanted to snatch them back.

And after the tank, when Alex had finally said those words without the intoxication of sexual intimacy, Maggie felt renewed.

“Yeah, I did,” Maggie says.

Alex dips her chin. “I was so scared I’d blown it, said it too soon.”

“I thought it’d just slipped out so I didn’t mention it.” Maggie reaches over and touches the blush on Alex's cheek. “Sex isn’t where it should be said the first time.”

Alex is resolute as she says, “Of course. Almost dying was much more appropriate.”

Maggie rolls over and kisses her, if only to stifle the silly grin from her sarcastic jibe. She nuzzles against Alex's nose. "We're getting married tomorrow."

"We are." They savour the peace for another moment, and then Alex leans away with a sigh. "I better go."

Maggie inches up on her elbow, watching as Alex rises and goes to the towel to lace up her boots. "Get home safe."

Alex hooks a leg over the window sill, and turns back with a grin. "Getting home is the easy part. Getting from my patio door to my bedroom is the hard part."

Like a thief in the night, Alex retreats to count her spoils. Maggie gets up to watch her climb down the spout and rustle her way out of the bushes. She blows a final kiss up at the window, and then treks back towards the dark forest.

As she goes on her way, the communication back and forth continues. Maggie feels the bond between them, even through messages on her phone.

She brushes her teeth, splashes water on her rosy cheeks, and brushes out her hair. She plays with her engagement ring, the girlish exhilaration bursting through her at the fact she was getting married tomorrow. She catches herself grinning in the bathroom mirror, rolls her eyes, and goes back into the bedroom. 

She sees a final text from Alex: _ Mom was in the kitchen. I felt like a teenager getting caught. _

Snickering, Maggie types out a reply:  _ Your teens and your hormones! _

She shoots off a warning to get enough sleep for the next day, and then sets her phone on the dresser. 

She thinks back to the dinner, her thoughts straying to how happy a cop by the name of Terry Jenner was. When they had worked together on the beat, she had been horrified by his anti-alien rhetoric and all-round bigotry, so much so that by the time she was applying for the detective’s exam, she requested a rota change. 

Now, years later he’s settled. He’s married to a bubbly Gazuka called Sarah, and his views are the antithesis of what they once were. He volunteers at a shelter for alien refugees, and they’ve adopted a little orphan Zimekian boy. 

When Maggie asked him about the transformation in him, he gave her a dopey smile. 

“Love, Sawyer. Education too. But mostly love. It cures all wounds.” 

Sarah also explained to her a belief in the Gazukan culture that said all beings are hollow until their soulmate returns their soul to them. Only then are they whole. 

Maggie has laid in many beds like this, staring at the ceiling, wondering how to fill that empty hole inside of her. Nothing ever seemed to work, distractions were temporary. All she seemed to do, in the end, was burn up her relationships or screw everything up for her partner. She spent hours, tears blurring her vision, trying to work out how to be whole again.

Now, with Alex’s presence still lingering, Maggie knows she has finally figured it out. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think :)


End file.
